


What Is Better?

by pi3rsquare



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe-Skyrim Fusion, Canon BotFA ending, Crossover, Death is only the beginning, Did I mention dragons?, Dragons, Eventual Time Travel, M/M, Possible Dragonborn!Thorin, Rating May Change, Slow Build, blasphemous mashing of tolkien and elder scrolls, so many dragons, thorin is finally able to properly yell at dragons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-07 18:19:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3178379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pi3rsquare/pseuds/pi3rsquare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Plant your trees, watch them grow." Some of the last words Thorin spoke to his hobbit, before slipping into the cold grips of death...</p>
<p>...So he had no business suddenly waking up on cold stone, the still-warm blood of two murdered humans saturating the sides of his coat. Not to mention the black wall, that spoke to him of a destiny he had only just begun to fulfill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've written in a while and, naturally, it's a huge, weirdass crossover that I have spent way too much time thinking about. I'm sorry if my writing is kind of rusty, I'll probably edit and rewrite it constantly as I go along. (Also if someone is interested in being a beta, that would be great too!!)
> 
> If all goes as planned, this will be a lengthy fic. I hope my OC is palatable. (no she is not named about the dragon from spyro i have no idea what you're talking about). I also hope my take on Tolkien characters and that particular universe is ok because I know way less about Middle Earth than I do Tamriel. Hence almost the whole story taking place in Tamriel.
> 
> The plot will get weird. Very weird. Of course, Bilbo will show up eventually. (Be patient, though)
> 
> And, as my idea of a joke, the song for this chapter is Help I'm Alive by Metric.

“Plant your trees,” Thorin spoke softly, breathing shallow, “watch them grow.”

As soon as he collapsed atop the ice and stone, he knew he was dying. The cold at his back had begun to seep into his muscles in place of the blood he’d lost; it was an emptiness reaching out to him, trying to take him away. The light of the grey sky would have been hard to look at, had it not been blocked out by brown curls and tearful eyes.

The hobbit shook slightly, trying hard to repress his sobs. Thorin gave him a sad smile, too weak to do much else. “If everyone valued home above gold, this world would be a merrier place,” he said, the last of his strength leaving with his words.

“No, no, no—Thorin, don’t you dare,” the hobbit cried, grasping one of Thorin’s hands desperately, like it might keep Thorin alive.

But the emptiness was consuming Thorin, the light slowly dimming around his vision. His burglar grieved over him, holding onto him even long after the light had left his eyes—it was the last thing Thorin saw. The cold swept over him, like the water of the frozen river beneath them. Despite everything, he welcomed it as he sank, slowly, into the depths of death, until the last bits of light had vanished completely. _But death isn’t supposed to be empty_ , whispered one last flicker of awareness, a presence that the void tried to silence.

But the flicker did not disappear with everything else. It lingered, whispering secrets older than time itself; things that no mortal would know or understand. It settled in the core of his consciousness, pulsing with a dull thrum. It was almost warm—

A pulse went through Thorin; a flicker of pain. He was suddenly once again aware of his being, as the cold of the void grew around him, fighting the pulse of energy like ice crystals bursting in his skin. Another pulse, another pain; darkness followed, filling the void around him.

But this death wasn’t dark--it was empty. This darkness was unnatural, _unwelcome_.

“ _This is not death_ ,” the darkness bellowed as it replaced the emptiness. The cold was no longer, instead becoming a fire that licked at his consciousness, threatening to consume him. Energy rolled through him in waves, gathering in his core like a storm. Thorin fought to escape it, afraid to let it overwhelm him. He wanted to scream, kick, _anything_ to make it stop. He could feel himself rising; only it felt more like falling.

“ _Rise, Spaandowol_ ,” the voice of the darkness demanded. _“Give in; do not fear ascension from the Void.”_

The pain was unbearable, and he couldn’t fight it any longer. He heeded the voice and gave in, letting himself fall. A final, overwhelming wave of energy shot through his entire being, and in a desperate gasp of air, Thorin awoke.

It was dark, the air damp, and the stone underneath him uncomfortably cold. He looked up, and saw a massive carved wall looming over him, blacker than a moonless night. Mindlessly he got to his feet, reaching out to touch its detailed inscriptions in his haze.

_“Do not fear ascension from the Void,”_ the wall seemed to speak to him as his fingers brushed over the carvings, repeating words from earlier. “ _Your destiny has always been intertwined with the twisted sons of Akitosh,”_ it spoke, echoing through his mind, “ _and finally, you awaken, summoned by the scar of Time.”_

Thorin repeated aloud, “Scar of…Time?” But the haze left him as he found his voice, and the presence of the wall faded with it.

Something wet caught his attention. He looked down at himself, seeing fresh blood was staining the sides of his clothes. He felt around his abdomen looking for the wound, but found it was no longer there, and turned to look to where he once lay. The blood, it turned out, was not his own.

The sight was sobering--two humans, a man and a woman, lay dead on the ground before him.  He stepped backwards until his back bumped against the black wall. Panic began to set in—something he didn’t feel often.

To suppress his panic, Thorin forced himself to take his eyes off the bodies, diverting his attention to his surroundings. It was a large chamber carved out of stone, and was visibly worn by time. The ceiling raised high into a dome, with massive skylights that illuminated the chamber, albeit dimly, since Thorin could see that dawn was just about to break. Stone benches and tables lined up towards the wall, making the chamber reminiscent of a temple. He looked once more to the bodies, only slightly relieved when he found he couldn’t recognize them.  _Slightly_.

_What if you killed them?_ a little nagging voice asked. It was impossible, of course, considering that Thorin had _also_ been dead not moments ago—but his mind had recently become too eager to entertain every possibility; especially the worst ones. However, there were so many other questions coming to mind that he couldn’t dwell on a particular one, as he frantically trying to piece everything together. “ _Where am I? What happened? Why am I here? Where is—“_

“—Bilbo…” he whispered, the thought stopping everything else. Bilbo had just been with him, by his side. He remembered how upset the hobbit had been, grief stricken and refusing to let him go. Now that Thorin was alive and well, his own sorrow could sweep over him with no death or emptiness to take it away again, and all he could think about what that he had to find Bilbo. He had to show him that he was okay. The thought that he had caused his friend such grief, especially after the regrettable acts he’d previously committed against him, was almost too much to bear. And then, Mahal forbid it, should he even dare to imagine the rest of the company’s reactions?

In the midst of his confusion, the desire to find his company—and Bilbo, even more so—made one thing clear: he would, most likely, not find the answer here. The wall seemed to know, but had been cryptic, and its presence left him as soon as he was able to start asking questions. It was also clear to him that this was not Erebor, and he had a sneaking suspicion that Erebor was, once again, very far away.

Thorin stumbled forward towards the bodies, examining them closer. They each had a single, identical wound, where something thin like an arrow had been shot through them, and the flesh around the wounds were mangled where the weapons had been yanked out. The woman had one in her breast, and the man had one between the eyes. It was clearly the work of an expert, particularly an archer, whose arrows must have been impressively strong to not have shattered on impact against armor or bone. Most surprising of all, however, was that both bodies had been lightly charred by fire. Worse still, they had only died minutes before, which meant the killer must not be far away.

The woman still held a sword in her hand, which Thorin bent down to retrieve. It was a long, slightly curved blade, and was a little bigger than the dwarf was used to. However, it was an impressive sword, and looking to the left he saw that the man only had a small dagger, which lay by his side. Decisively, he also picked up the sword’s sheath, and hooked the weapon to his belt.

A grand flight of stairs rose on either side of the wall, and Thorin opted for that path over the one directly in front of him that led into a dark tunnel. He was pleasantly surprised to find that the stairs led to several large doors, which happened to be a way out.

The morning air was frigid and windy, and it hit him with a blast. He stepped out into what appeared to be a court yard, pulling at the sides of his coat in a futile attempt to keep warm. It was strange, actually; he didn’t remember being so sensitive to the cold.

A shuffling to his right startled him, and he instinctually reached for the sword at his side.

“Good morning,” a stranger called out, walking into his path and turning to face him. They wore heavy armor almost as dark as the wall in the temple, and a hooded cowl that covered everything but their eyes.  “Would you mind telling me what you were doing in that temple?” they asked. They held a large, dark bow at their side, but made no moves to use it.

Thorin glanced down at the bow, remembering the bodies in the temple, and drew his weapon. “What business is it of yours?” he asked with a raised voice, sneering.

“I’d say it’s all my business,” they replied sternly, though they showed no signs of hostility, instead casually swaying back and forth on their feet. “The only other way out of the temple has been sealed off,” they continued, “and I too walked out only moments ago. I would have known if you were there.”

The sun had begun to rise behind where the stranger stood, just starting to peak over the mountains of the horizon. The glare forced Thorin to slightly avert his eyes.

“So, you see how this is odd?” they asked, shrugging.

Thorin frowned. “I don’t know how I got there,” he admitted, before gruffly adding, “but even if I did know, I wouldn’t tell you.”

The stranger didn’t immediately say anything in response, instead looking down at him thoughtfully, though with an intensity that made Thorin uneasy. A surprisingly warm wind blew the trees around them, causing the stranger to avert their attention to the sky.

“I suppose that doesn’t matter right now,” they finally spoke up, backing up a few steps. “There are more important things to worry about, after all.”

“What do you mean by that?” Thorin asked.

The stranger looked back to him, the corners of their eyes crinkling from a smile. “I mean that we should move,” they replied. “You have two options,” they continued, starting a brisk walk down the hill, “stick close to my side, or get as far away from me as possible. Either way, I suggest you make your decision quickly.”

Thorin furrowed his brow, taken aback by a wave of uncertainty, but with a groan he gripped the sword in his hand a little tighter and followed the stranger.

“So, you’ve chosen to follow me?” they asked, glancing over their shoulder to him.

“What sort of danger are we facing?” Thorin inquired, though his question was all but ignored.

“‘We’? So you _are_ following me!” they exclaimed happily. Thorin opened his mouth to protest again and demand answers, but was cut off when the stranger pulled off their cowl, revealing their face.

She was a woman with dark skin, and fierce brown eyes. She had a strong jaw, wavy black hair cropped short to her head, and two scars that trailed up her chin and lower lip. Her nose was slight and rounded, and wrinkled when she smiled.

“I’m Cynder,” she said, slowing her pace to better face him.

Thorin had been taken off guard by her sudden and lighthearted introduction.  He stammered for a moment, and frowned. “I, ah…I’m Thorin,” he replied, and then after a moment’s hesitation he added, “Oakenshield.”

“Thorin Oakenshield?” Cynder repeated. “Sounds fancy,” she quipped.

The lack of recognition slightly concerned Thorin, but he scoffed at her ‘sounds fancy’ remark, and decided to chalk it up to human ignorance.

“I’ll ask again,” he said sternly, “what sort of danger are we facing?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Thorin,” Cynder said, continuing to ignore his questions, “but you are awfully short.”

This time her remarks were met with silence, and when the woman looked back and made eye contact with the dwarf, she was met only with an annoyed glower.

“…Right,” she muttered, glancing down to the sword Thorin still held in his hand. A sword she recognized. “You know how to fight, I take it?”

Thorin replied with a solemn nod, and Cynder smiled.

“That’s good,” she declared. She then stopped walking, and turned to him with arms crossed over her chest. The next question she asked hit Thorin a little too hard.

“How do you feel about dragons?”

\--------------------

_-Moments earlier-_

Cynder stomped out of the temple as swiftly as she could, greeting the biting wind with fondness. Her ears and neck still burned from anger and disbelief, and the cowl that hid her face was beginning to feel more suffocating than usual.

“You killed the dragon, Paarthurnax?” Delphine had asked. It was a question laced with suspicion, and it was a suspicion that had been leveled at the Dragonborn more than once from both Blades. Delphine had always been the more vocal of the two when it came to her opinions, so Cynder got most of it from her. Lately, however, both of them had been acting strange.

It just then occurred to Cynder that they were paranoid.

She considered lying, but knew such a lie would only come back to bite her eventually. “No, and I never said I would,” she replied honestly.

“That’s right, you didn’t,” Delphine agreed, looking down at the Dragonborn with darkness in her eyes that Cynder had never quite seen before. It made her feel smaller than she already did against the much taller nord woman, and quite frankly, it frightened her.

“I don’t see why I must follow your orders to earn your loyalty,” Cynder pressed. “Is it not the entire point of your order to follow the Dragonborn?”

“The Dragonborn’s duty is to protect Skyrim by pushing the dragons’ existence from this world,” Delphine glowered.

Cynder bristled with anger. “The only duty as Dragonborn, that I've accepted and made clear from the very beginning, was that I am to defeat Alduin and anyone elsethat may stand against me, dragon or not,” she blared. A heat had begun to build in her throat which she had just begun to notice, and she stepped down in an effort to suppress it.

“Paarthurnax does not stand against me, you, or the people of Tamriel,” she continued, lowering her voice in an attempt to calm herself, “and, honestly, has been more of a help to me than either of you, or this empty temple.”

“So you admit that you would trust a dragon over your own kind?” Delphine asked, putting a hand to her belt.

Cynder took a few more steps back, frowning, and then after a few moments of hesitation replied, “Over you, perhaps.”

She had expected a backlash, sure. Worst case scenario they might refuse to speak to her from then on, maybe even deny her access back into the temple, but certainly not _this_.

In a blink of an eye, Delphine lunged at Cynder, sword drawn, and with every intention to kill.

She had given Cynder no other choice; a fire erupted from the Dragonborn’s throat, stunning the Blade long enough for Cynder to aim her bow, and deliver a single arrow to the woman’s heart. Esbern seemed to have been more reluctant to face Cynder in battle, but ran to attack her after witnessing the death of his partner, rage having overtaken him. He didn't get far as Cynder shot another arrow, this one striking the man right between the eyes.

As such, the conflict ended as quickly as it began. She still couldn't figure out exactly what it was the set them off like that. Killing her should have been the last thing they wanted, since as far as they knew, they would have been sentencing the rest of the world to death.

Not that it mattered anymore.

Cynder walked forward, gripping her bow with a strength that might have snapped it had it been made of wood. The wind grew stronger, and with it was a rumble, and something else that had been following her for quite some time.

“ _Mirmulnir_ ,” she groaned, silently cursing the beast. This dragon she would gladly kill.

That was when something else from behind had gotten her attention; footsteps and grumbling were coming from the entrance of the temple, and she hid within the trees as quickly as she could. Her first thought was that perhaps she had failed to actually kill both of the Blades, and was still being pursued. However she didn't see Delphine or Esbern; instead it was a short man with long dark hair and a short beard, who looked very disgruntled and just generally disturbed over his surroundings.

Cynder wasn't sure if she should be curious, or angry that she had missed some secret third member of the Blades.

“Good morning!” she greeted, walking out to face him, standing directly in front of where she knew the sun would rise, so he may react slower should he also try to attack the Dragonborn.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for death and gore (I guess?). Specifically, someone gets burnt reeeaaally bad...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry in advanced for the short chapter! Also sorry if it's rushed and kind of boring. The next chapter is where things actually get interesting, I promise.
> 
> Also, for those that have played Skyrim and might know, remember the old lady in Solitude who was asking about her daughter, who you later find out died in a Stormcloak ambush? Well her daughter is Fura, but Fura still might as well be an oc since she was never actually alive in the game.
> 
> AND THEN SHAMELESS SELF-ADVERTISING: My friend and I made an amazing and totally serious entry to the Hobbit Fan Challenge, so if you're feel generous totally vote for us here at https://fanchallenge.thehobbit.com/?entryid=104 . If for whatever reason the link doesn't work, just type "Inu" into the search bar and our video is the only one that pops us. You don't even have to watch the video and it only takes a second to vote. It would mean a lot! :))

           

            Fura Morrard sat cross-legged on the dirt floor of her tent, staring blankly at the unopened letter she held in her hands. The sun was just beginning to peak over the horizon, and the squadron Legion soldiers would begin departing at any moment. She worried that there wouldn’t be a quiet moment in Whiterun, so this might be one of the last times she’d be able to think in peace. There wasn’t a name on the parchment aside from her own, but she didn’t need much to know exactly who it was from.

            She crumpled it up in a decisive move, but stopped herself from throwing it away, opting to stuff into her pack instead.

            It was at that moment a roar shook the ground beneath her.

            The soldier jumped to her feet at the noise and swiftly moved outside the tent, grabbing her shortsword on her way out. Another roar enveloped her, and the rumbling, crackling sound of incredible heat was all the warning she got before flames could be seen rolling over the houses of Rorikstead.

            The word “Dragon!” rang through the air and Fura swore her blood froze. Time did not slow however, and just as soon as the panic hit her, the camp was overtaken in a dark shadow. Fura was just quick enough to evade the fire that erupted from the dragon’s maw as she and several others dove just out of reach. Others weren’t so lucky, but the fire was so sudden and hot, that most didn’t even have the chance to scream. Fura fell to the ground, and began scrambling to duck behind the burning stalls of the camp, the horses having run away long before everyone else. The dragon roared again, this time much closer, and the sound was so loud it left her deaf to nothing but pained ringing in her ears.

            Though she couldn’t hear it, she could certainly feel the vibrations as the beast landed on the row of houses next to her. The iron arrows of the guards bounced uselessly off the dragon’s hide, which meant their axes and swords would only be useless against it as well.

            Someone collapsed ten feet in front of her, their body charred and mangled beyond recognition, and Fura watched them as they reached out to her in their final moments. It was then the tears began to sting her eyes and she shut them, clasping her hands against her ears and she began to curl in on herself, hoping to shut out the sight of the person’s anguish completely.

            “ _Face me, Dovahkiin_ ,” the dragon bellowed, his voice shaking the ground, and Fura winced in pain as a warmth began leaking out of one of her ears, and pulled a hand away to see it was blood. She looked back up to where the person had fallen, but their body was now completely still, their arm still outstretched towards her.

            The sight clicked something in her. The Legion might have her head if any in Rorikstead survived this day, but Fura realized she didn’t want to die, helpless and without a fighting chance, her body distorted and unrecognizable.

            So she got to her feet and ran. She didn’t know where she was running to, and didn’t care as long as she got as far away from Rorikstead as she possibly could.

 

\-------

 

Thorin was temporarily speechless, his mouth slightly agape, as Cynder’s words took a moment to register.

            “A _dragon?_ ” he finally repeated.

            The woman nodded. “It’s been after me for quite some time,” she said, checking her bow with careful hands. Thorin frowned.

            “A dragon is following you?” he asked blankly, to which she nodded again. The dwarf rolled his eyes, leaning back a little in disbelief. “A _dragon_?” he repeated once more, raising his voice.

            Cynder smirked. “You’re not from around here, are you?” she replied, drawing several large arrows from her quiver. They were black like her armor and much like the black arrow that must have been used to bring down Smaug, Thorin thought.

            “As far as my knowledge goes, the last of the great dragons have been slain,” he declared, following Cynder as she began to trudge down the hill once again. His words were met with loud, hysterical laughs.

            “You’ve been in that temple for a long time, haven’t you?” she asked, shoulders still shaking from her laughter. “Do you even know where you are?”

            Thorin paused, furrowing his brow, giving a long look to his surroundings. They were surrounded by wilderness, and there were no visible landmarks to give him an idea of where he might be.

            Cynder seemed to notice his frustration. “We’re close to Rorikstead,” she offered, “does that ring a bell?”

Thorin shook his head. “I’ve never heard of it,” he admitted.

            The woman stopped walking so she could turn and face him. “You must at least know we’re in Skyrim,” she said, and Thorin’s deepening frown only further concerned her. “You have heard of _that_ , I hope?”

            Thorin was once again silent for a few moments, before emitting a low, “No.”

            Silence passed between them once again as Cynder looked down at him in puzzled contemplation. She finally opened her mouth to say something when a low rumble came from the distance, cutting her off. “Like I said,” she said slowly, continuing to eye him inquisitively, “there are more important things to attend to.” She then turned once more to head in the direction of the rumble before adding, “Though I hope you survive this upcoming battle. You…interest me.”

            Her words sent a twinge of unease through Thorin, but he said nothing in return. Instead he considered parting ways with the odd—and dangerous—woman, since he hadn’t expected the trouble to be a _dragon_ of all things. Besides, he’d been _dead,_ and would most likely die again if he attempted to battle a dragon.

            _You don’t know her,_ _you owe her nothing_ , a little voice told him, _this is not your battle._

            A noise from the bushes in front of them distracted him from his thoughts, and Cynder had her bow drawn before he could blink. A young woman dressed in steel armor stumbled out in front of them, burns on her face and arms. Cynder frowned, but lowered her bow.

            The woman began sputtering words so fast that neither of them could catch much of it. “I must get away from here,” she pleaded, trailing off. The woman nearly fell over, but Cynder held her up by the shoulder.

            “She’s in shock,” Thorin stated, tightening the grip on his sword. Cynder nearly chuckled, but instead she put her hands on the woman’s shoulders and looked her in the eyes.

            The woman’s shoulders were heaving. “It all happened so quickly,” she said.

            “Take a deep breath; I need you to calm down, and tell me where the dragon is,” Cynder told her clearly.

            The woman did as she was told, and began taking in slow, shaky breaths—eventually, she calmed down enough to speak. “Rorikstead,” she said, “the dragon attacked Rorikstead.”

            Cynder gave the woman a pat on the shoulder and backed away. “Of course he is,” Cynder muttered bitterly, biting back a curse. She marched forward once again in renewed determination, but stopped and looked back when she noticed Thorin wasn’t following her.

            “Are you still coming?” she asked, to which Thorin was silent. Cynder furrowed her brow. “If this is about leaving her, I can assure you there will be many more like her if we don’t act quickly.”

            That Thorin already knew; it wasn’t the injured woman that concerned him as much as his renewed will to live. “I’m afraid I can’t join you,” he finally said. The words felt wrong as they fell off his tongue; it wasn’t like a dwarf to turn down a fight.

            Cynder bit the inside of her mouth, but nodded. “Very well, I understand,” she replied, “dragon slaying isn’t for everyone, and this won’t be the first time I’ve fought one alone.”

            _Alone_. That was the word that stuck with Thorin the most, as they walked away from one another. The dwarves of Erebor couldn’t defeat one with an entire army, so whatever power she possessed take on a dragon _alone_ must have been dark, and volatile, and it would probably be safest to stay away from her anyhow, especially if she had dragons out for her blood.

            But walking away felt _wrong_ , and more importantly he felt like he was walking away from something important; something that could bring him closer to finding a reason for everything that was happening.

Thorin glanced over to the young woman who was still with him, following him like a shadow.

            “You look like a soldier,” he stated, and the woman nodded slowly.

            “I was recently recruited into the Imperial Legion,” she replied shakily with a nod, saying the name of another thing Thorin had never heard of. “I was supposed to be going on my first assignment today.”

            “Where are the rest of your men?” he asked.

            The woman looked down, almost shamefully. “I don’t know,” she admitted, “I saw some of them die when the dragon attacked, and I didn’t stay long enough to learn the fate of the rest.”

            Thorin huffed. “So you’re a deserter,” he declared.

            “I didn’t join the Imperials to fight dragons!” she snapped. “Our weapons were useless against it, and none of us stand a chance. If the others are smart, they’ll run as well.”

            “But do you actually believe you did the right thing?” Thorin asked hesitantly, to which the woman was silent for a few moments.

            “I don’t know,” she eventually admitted.

            Silence fell between them for a few moments as Thorin fell into his thoughts once again. Finally, with a grumble, he turned to the young woman and looked to her with determination.

            “Show me the way to Rorikstead,” he ordered.

            The woman’s eye widened, and she shook her head. “You had your chance to go, but you let it walk away,” she replied, taking a few steps back. “I refuse to go back there.”

            “You ran like a coward,” Thorin said, raising his voice, “you didn’t even stop to help survivors.”

            “You don’t know what I saw!” the woman exclaimed, taking more steps back. Thorin wanted to laugh, but didn’t.

            “I’ve seen the horrors of dragon-fire, I know them as well as any,” he stated grimly, lowering his voice. “But I don’t ask that you fight by my side; only that you show me the way.”

            The woman fell silent, and after a moment her shoulders sagged. “Very well,” she finally agreed, “but I’m leaving you as soon as we reach the road.”

**Author's Note:**

> When I first played Skyrim, it was on a bootlegged copy that I got from piratebay, and not too long after the game came out. The game was buggy as hell, so most of the time I wasn't sure what was a bug and what wasn't (though this is true for most bethesda games). For example, Delphine and Esbern tried to kill me when I refused to kill Paarthurnax, so for the longest time I just assumed that was a thing that happened until I played an actual patched version.
> 
> Soooo...yeah that's why I killed them here. Except I hope to have a reason this time. (I hope to have a reason for everything in this fic, but we'll see). 
> 
> Spaandowol is (my take on, at least) Oakenshield in Dovahzul.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading! Any comments or critique or whatever would definitely be appreciated uwu


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